UC-NRLF 


SDS 


EO.  BRUMOEK 
'  BOOKSEUW 


Page  19. 
"  BURTON    DROPPED   THE    REINS   ALTOGETHER  " 


A  PAKTIJSra  AND  A  MEETING 


BY 


W.  D.  HOWELLS 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW     YORK 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
1896 


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Copyright,  1896,  by  W.  D.  HOWKLLS. 
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ILLUSTRATIONS 


"BURTON  DROPPED  THE  REINS  ALTOGETH 
ER"  Frontispiece 

"  GIVE  TO  HIM  THAT  ASKETH  "     ....  Facing  p.  40 

"  SHE  TRIED  THE  SPRING  OF  THE  FLOOR  "  .  "             60 


154773 


A   PARTING  AND  A  MEETING 


THEY  drove  along  in  the  old  chaise, 
with  the  top  down,  under  the  bright 
forenoon  sun.  The  June  warmth  had 
a  hint  of  summer  heat  in  it,  but  a  light 
wind  blew  cool  in  their  faces  out  of  the 
northwest.  It  had  rained  over  nicrht, 

O         / 

and  the  earth  seemed  washed  as  clean  as 
the  sky.  Where  the  woods  were  cut 
away  from  the  smoothly  packed  road, 
the  laurel  was  coming  in  bloom  ;  where 
the  trees  closed  upon  it  the  pine  tufts 
purred,  and  the  birch  leaves  sang  in  the 
breeze,  so  near  that  she  had  to  put  up 


her  hand  to  keep  a  bough  from  switch 
ing  her  in  the  face,  now  and  then;  the 
horse  made  snatches  at  the  foliage,  and 
from  time  to  time  champed  thoughtful 
ly  on  his  bit,  as  if  he  fancied  he  might 
have  caiiffht  a  leaf  in  his  mouth. 

CD 

The  young  man  held  the  lax  rein  in 
one  hand,  while  he  held  closely  in  the 
other  the  hand  of  the  young  girl  beside 
him.  She  seemed  more  conscious  of 
what  the  horse  was  doing  than  he,  and 
she  returned  his  long  gaze  with  eyes 
that  made  little  flights  of  anxiety  away 
from  his,  to  the  right  and  the  left,  and 
then  settled  back  to  the  joy  of  dwelling 
on  his  face.  It  was  the  thin,  aquiline 
face  of  New  England:  the  cheek-bones 

o 

were  high,  and  touched  with  a  color 
that  kept  itself  pure,  though  his  long 
hands  were  a  country  brown  ;  his  eyes 
were  blue,  and  his  hair  pale  yellow.  His 
looks  had  no  aquiline  fierceness  from 


his  profile,  but  only  a  gentle  intensity, 
unless  it  might  better  be  called  a  rnild 
rapture. 

The  girl  beside  him  sat  pulled  away 
into  the  corner  of  the  chaise,  and  yet 
drawn  towards  him  in  a  tender  droop. 
Her  face  was  somewhat  narrow,  and 
that  made  the  corners  of  her  pretty 
mouth  show  far  into  her  cheeks.  Her 
nose  was  tilted  a  little  above  it,  but  it 
was  straight  and  fine  from  the  tip  up 
ward  ;  her  eyes  were  set  rather  near  to 
gether,  and  her  forehead  had  the  hair 
drawn  low  on  it,  and  close  to  her  mo 
bile  brows.  A  wide-fronted  scoop-bon 
net  flared  round  her  little  head,  with 
ribbons  that  fell  to  the  waist  of  her  very 
high-waisted  green  silk  dress,  made  in 
the  fashion  of  seventy  years  ago,  with  a 
skirt  ending  in  closely-gathered  ruffles 
a  foot  deep.  The  young  man  wore 
a  blue  coat  with  brass  buttons,  tight 


sleeves,  and  a  high  quilted  collar;  he 
had  passed  several  times  round  his 
throat  a  cambric  cravat ;  and  his  panta 
loons,  closely-fitted  to  his  legs,  met  his 
gaiters  at  the  ankles.  They  were  coun 
try  people,  and  their  costumes,  which 
their  figures  gave  distinction,  were  not 
those  of  the  very  moment  in  London 
and  Paris. 


II 

HE  was  Roger  Burton,  and  lie  had 
taught  the  academy  at  Birchfield  for  the 
past  year.  He  was  twenty-seven,  and 
Chloe  Mason  was  twenty.  Her  father 
was  the  doctor  in  Birchfield,  and  when 
Roger  came  up  from  Boston  way  to 
take  the  school,  he  spent  a  few  days  in 
the  doctor's  house,  until  lie  could  find  a 
settled  boarding  place.  Chloe  had  been 
the  head  of  the  household  since  her 
mother's  death,  and  she  sat  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  and  poured  out  Roger's 
tea  without  looking  towards  him,  so  that 
it  could  hardly  be  called  love  at  sight  in 
her.  But  they  both  fell  in  love  with 
each  other  at  once,  and  they  began  keep 
ing  company  almost  from  the  first. 


Before  the  end  of  the  first  year  it 
was  known  that  they  were  engaged,  but 
they  were  not  really  engaged  till  quite 
near  the  close  of  the  spring  term.  Then 
she  ran  away  from  home  for  a  little 
visit  at  her  grandfather's  in  Medbury, 
to  have  a  chance,  she  said,  to  think  it 
over.  As  soon  as  the  school  closed  he 
came  after  her ;  he  told  her  that  he 
came  to  help  her  think.  She  answered 
him,  from  the  fright  and  joy  his  corn 
ing  gave  her,  that  this  was  a  silly  ex 
cuse,  and  she  would  hardly  kiss  him ; 
but  she  let  him  stay  till  eleven  o'clock, 
the  night  he  arrived,  before  she  drove 
him  away  to  the  tavern  at  the  cross 
roads  where  he  had  put  up.  She  said 
she  guessed  he  would  get  locked  out  if 
he  was  not  careful ;  and,  in  fact,  the 
landlord  came  down  to  let  him  in  with 
his  night-clothes  on,  but  chewing  to 
bacco  as  if  it  were  liich  noon.  That  was 


Friday  night,  and    this  was   Saturday 
morning. 

The  horse  and  chaise  were  her  grand 
father's,  and  the  squire  told  the  young 
man  that  if  he  was  not  going  anywhere 
in  particular,  and  not  in  a  hurry  to  get 
there,  the  horse  was  just  the  horse  he 
wanted. 


Ill 

THEY  started  early,  to  be  alone  to 
gether  as  long  as  they  could,  and  they 
let  the  horse  loiter  over  the  road  at  will. 
They  were  not  always  quite  certain 
where  they  were,  but  again  Chloe 
thought  she  knew  ;  she  used  to  be  a 
great  deal  at  her  grandfather's  when  she 
was  little,  and  every  now  and  then  she 
did  really  come  to  a  place  that  she  re 
membered. 

As  they  lingered  on  the  way,  they 
talked  without  stopping  a  moment. 
Their  love  was  yet  so  newly  owned 
that  they  were  full  of  delicious  sur 
prises  for  each  other,  whether  they 
found  out  that  they  were  alike  in  a 
thing,  or  unlike. 


"  What  are  you  looking  at  so  hard  ?" 
she  asked,  at  one  time,  and  a  little  quaver 
came  into  her  voice,  which  almost  died 
in  her  throat  from  emotion. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  so  hard  ?" 
he  demanded  in  turn  ;  and  they  took  a 
fresh  hold  upon  each  other's  hands. 

"  I  am  not  looking  at  anything,"  she 
said,  and  she  let  her  glance  flutter  away 
from  him  to  prove  it. 

"  I  am  looking  at  something,"' he  said. 
"I  am  looking  at  your  mouth." 

"What  for?"  she  tempted  him. 

"  To  see  why  it  is  so  beautiful.  I  am 
glad  it  isn't  one  of  those  shallow  mouths, 
that  seem  just  on  the  surface." 

He  continued  to  study  her  face  with 
a  dreamy  interest  which  she  bore  with 
out  blushing.  "Features  don't  seem  to 
mean  much  of  anything  if  you  take 
them  separately;  and  it's  the  look  in  a 
face  that  keeps  it  together.  I  wonder 


10 


what  it  is  makes  your  look  ?  The  soul, 
I  suppose;  the  features  don't,  and  it 
must  be  our  souls  that  we  care  for 
in  one  another.  Don't  you  believe 
so?" 

"  Yes ;  of  course.  It's  you  I  care  for ; 
and  I  should  care  just  as  much  for  you 
if  you  were  dead  and  gone,  as  I  do  now," 
said  the  girl. 

"  When  you  went  away,"  he  con 
tinued,  "  I  tried  to  picture  your  face  in 
my  mind.  But  I  couldn't.  You  were 
just  something  sweet  and  truer  some 
thing  dear  and  lovely  ;  but  you  had  no 
form." 

"  Well,  /  could  see  you  as  plain  as  if 
you  stood  before  me  all  the  time.  And 
you  were  full  as  .real." 

"  That  is  very  curious."  He  resumed 
his  contemplation  of  her  face,  from  the 
muse  he  had  fallen  into.  "  How  strange 
it  all  is.  Is  this  you,  Chloe,  or  is  some- 


11 


thing  else  you  ?  When  I  think  of  you — 
when  I  look  at  you — 

She  suddenly  lost  her  patience. 
"  Well,  don't  look  so  at  me  !" 

"How?" 

"  As  if  you  didn't  see  me  !" 

"But  I  do  see  you!" 

"  Well,  then,  look  as  if  you  did.  Oh, 
look  out  for  that  horse!"  The  horse 
had  turned  abruptly  out  of  the  road 
towards  a  bit  of  pasturage  near  the 
wayside  wall :  the  chaise  hung  by  one 
wheel  at  the  edge  of  the  gully  dividing 
the  road  from  the  grass  that  had  taken 
his  fancy.  "  In  another  minute  we 
should  have  been  tipped  over.  Do  be 
careful,  Roger !"  she  palpitated,  after  he 
had  recalled  the  horse  from  his  wander 
ings,  and  set  out  with  him  again  on 
theirs.  "  If  you  can't  drive  any  better 
than  that,  you'd  better  let  me." 

"Would  you  like  to  drive?  You  may!" 


1:3 


"  If  I  did,  I  shouldn't  go  to  sleep  over 
it.  How  absent-minded  you  are  !" 

"Don't  you  like  it?" 

"  I  like— you.  Ob,  don't !  There's  a 
carriage  coining!  I  should  think  you 
would  be  ashamed  !  Well — there,  then  ! 
And  I  know  they  saw  us !" 

"  I  don't  believe  they  did.  They  were 
too  far  off.  See  !  they  are  turning  down 
another  road." 

"  Well,  do  behave,  anyway  !" 

"  May  I  put  my  arm  around  you  ?" 

"No,  I  want  to  talk  seriously  with 
you,  Roger;  and  I  can't  think  if  you 
do  that." 

"  How  strange  that  is !  I  wish  you 
would  explain  why  you  can't  think  if  I 
put  rny  arm  around  you.  What  do  you 
do  if  you  don't  think  ?" 

"  How  silly  !     Feel,  I  presume." 

"  Well,  why  not  feel,  then  ?  Feeling 
is  better  than  thinking,  if  love  is  feel-. 


18 


ing,  isn't  it  ?  But  perhaps  love  is  think 
ing,  too." 

"It  ought  to  be,"  she  sighed.  "Or, 
at  least,  we  ought  to  think  about  it." 

"Well,  let  us  think  about  it,  then;  I 
don't  know  a  pleasanter  subject.  What 
do  you  suppose  it  really  is  ?  Why  should 
I  care  so  much  for  yon,  and  nothing  for 
another  person  ?  What  is  the  law  of 
it?  For  it  must  have  a  law.  It  wasn't 
blind  chance  that  made  us  care  for  each 
other.  You  can't  imagine  our  caring 
for  any  one  else  ?" 

"No.  I  can't  imagine  that  at  all — 
now." 

"Now?" 

"Why,  I  presume  if  I  hadn't  ever 
seen  you — if  you  hadn't  ever  come  to 
Birchfield — I  might  have  got  to  caring 
for  somebody  else.  Ira  Dickerman, 
very  likely."  She  pulled  away  to  her 
corner  of  the  chaise,  and  looked  at 


14 


him  with  mocking  laughter  in  her 
eyes. 

The  young  man  turned  his  face  away, 
and  she  looked  forward  and  peered  up 
into  it  to  see  if  she  had  vexed  him. 
Bat  he  only  said,  rather  sadly:  "Ira 
is  smart.  He  will  make  a  good  lawyer. 
He  is  more  practical  than  I  am.  Your 
father  would  rather  have  had  him, 
Chloe." 

"  Father  can  have  him  yet,  if  he 
wants  him,"  said  the  girl,  and  they  both 
laughed.  "  /  don't.  But  I  guess  you 
can  be  practical  enough — if  you  want 
to." 

"  You're  afraid  I  shan't  want  to.  Is 
that  what  you're  going  to  be  serious 
about?" 

"Not  unless  you  wish  I  should, 
Roger,"  she  answered,  fondly. 

"  I  do  wish  you  should.  How  do  you 
think  I  could  be  more  practical  ?" 


15 


"  Well,  grandfather  thinks  you  might 
study  law  while  you're  teaching;  lie 
did.  And  I  don't  believe  he  cares  much 
for  writing  poetry — There!  /like  it! 
And  I  presume  they  all  think — " 

"What?" 

"  That  you're  rather  notional." 

Roger  sighed. 

"  I  presume  I  shall  always  be  a  school 
master.  I  shall  never  be  very  well  off, 
nor  get  into  Congress — like  Ira." 

"Now,  if  you  keep  bringing  up  Ira 
Dickerman — ' 

"  I  won't.  But  I  know  they'd  rather 
—Well,  I  won't  say  it !  And  they're 
right  about  me.  I  know  I'm  notional." 
He  was  silent  long  enough  to  let  her 
deny  that  he  was  notional  at  all ;  and 
then  he  said  :  "  There  is  one  thing  that 
troubles  me,  Chloe.  Last  night  I  got  to 
thinking —  Now,  this  will  make  you 
angry  !" 


16 


"No,  go  on!"  said  the  girl,  and  she 
took  a  firmer  grip  of  his  hand  to  reas 
sure  him. 

"  You  know  what  our  thoughts  are, 
and  how  they  won't  be  commanded? 
Well,  last  night  I  didn't  sleep  much.  I 
got  to  thinking  about  love."  She  blushed 
a  little,  and  her  hand  trembled  in  his. 

"  There's  something  in  me — I  don't 
know  how  to  explain  it  exactly — that 
makes  me  hate  to  have  things  fade  out, 
and  die  out,  the  way  they  all  seem  to 
do.  I  should  like  to  get  something  that 
would  last.  Now,  the  way  I  look  at 
married  people,  their  love  doesn't  seem 
to  have  lasted.  They're  good  friends 
— sometimes,  and  I  don't  know  but  most 
of  the  time — but  something's  gone,  and 
it  seems  to  be  their  love.  How  did  it 
go  ?  When  did  it  begin  to  go  ?  It  seems 
now  to  be  the  whole  of  life,  and  if  life 
went  on  anywhere  else,  love  ought  to 


17 


go  on  with  it.  If  we  can't  think  how 
it  had  a  beginning  —  and  I  can't;  it 
seems  to  me  as  if  I  always  cared  for 
you — " 

"  That's  just  the  way  it  seems  to  me, 
too,"  she  murmured. 

"  Why,  then,  it  oughtn't  to  be  possi 
ble  for  it  to  have  an  end." 

"JSTo." 

Something  in  her  tone  made  him  look 
up  at  her,  for  he  had  been  talking  with 
a  downward  glance,  in  the  way  he  had, 
and  now  he  saw  her  chin  trembling.  He 
was  beginning,  "  Do  you  believe;"  but 
he  ended,  "I  don't  believe  our  love  will 
pass  away  ;  I  can't  believe  it." 

She  made  two  or  three  trials  before 
she  could  harden  herself  to  say  :  "  I 
don't  see  how  we're  different  from  other 
folks." 

"  But  we  can  be  different.  "We  can 
say,  here  and  now,  that  we  will  love  each 


18 


other  so  that  our  love  will  never  die  as 
long  as  we  live,  can't  we  ?  Let  us  think. 
Of  course,  I  know  that  you  are  beauti 
ful,  and  I  do  love  your  beauty."  She 
gave  a  little  sob,  and  he  said,  "  Oh, 
don't!" 

She  pulled  her  hand  away  to  make 
search  for  her  handkerchief.  "It  isn't 
anything.  I  can't  help  it.  I  presume 
I  like  your  looks,  too,  Koger.  Do  you 
think  that  is  wrong  ?" 

She  glimmered  at  him  with  wet  eyes 
above  the  handkerchief  she  held  over 
her  quivering  mouth. 

"  Oh,  no  !     It  can't  be." 

"But  you  think — you  think  if  we 
care  for  each  other's  looks  so  much,  and 
the  looks  go — that — that— 

"No,  I  don't  think  that." 

"  Yes,  you  do,  Roger !  You  must  be 
honest  with  me.  You  know  you  think 
that!  Well,  I  hope  I  shall  die,  then, 


11) 


before  my  looks  go ;  for  if  you  didn't 
care  for  me— 

"Chloe!  Do  you  think  it  was  yonr 
looks  I  fell  in  love  with  ?  You  know  it 
wasn't.  It  was  you — you  behind  your 
looks.  Something  that  was  more  you 
than  all  your  looks  are.  And  I  believe 
that  my  love  for  you  will  last  forever, 
just  what  it  is  now." 

"  You  are  just  saying  that." 

"  Indeed,  I  ain  not.  I  believe  that  if 
people  truly  love  each  other — what  is 
best  in  each  other — as  we  do,  their  love 
cannot  die.  I  know  that  you  don't  care 
for  my  looks  any  more  than  I  care  for 
yours." 

She  had  dried  her  eyes,  but  she  shook 
her  head  wofully,  with  so  tragical  a 
droop  of  the  corners  of  her  mouth  that 
when  she  said,  innocently,  "I  don't 
know,"  Burton  broke  out  laughing,  and 
dropped  the  reins  altogether  to  catch 


20 


her  in  his  arms  and  kiss  the  droop  out 
of  both  the  corners.  The  horse  seized 
a  moment  favorable  for  browsing,  and 
drew  up  as  skilfully  as  if  he  had  been 
driven  to  a  wayside  birch,  and  began  a 
tranquil  satisfaction  of  his  baffled  appe 
tite  for  foliage. 

"  Poor  girl.  Now  I  have  made  you 
unhappy?" 

"  No,  no !"  she  said,  laughing  and 
crying  at  once,  and  struggling  as  much 
to  keep  herself  in  his  hold  as  to  release 
herself  from  it.  "  I  am  riot  unhappy  at 
all.  I  am  excited.  And  I  said  as  much 
as  you  did — I  was  as  much  to  blame — I 
put  you  up  to  it.  I  presume  I'm  cry 
ing  more  to  think  how  miserable  I 
should  be  if  I  didn't  trust  you  so.  But 
if  I  trust  you  I  am  not  afraid,  and  you 
may  go  on  arid  say  anything." 

"  No,"  he  returned,  with  a  sort  of  se 
rious  joy,  "  I  have  nothing  more  to  say. 


And  perhaps  you  have  got  at  the  an 
swer  to  the  riddle.  If  we  always  have 
faith  we  shall  have  love.  Or,  turn  it 
the  other  way;  it's  true  that  way, 
too." 

He  sat,  letting  her  get  back  her  spirits 
and  repair  her  looks,  and  he  would  per 
haps  not  have  started  of  his  own  mo 
tion  at  all.  When  she  put  her  hand 
kerchief  back  into  her  pocket  at  last, 
she  said,  gently  :  "  Don't  you  think  we'd 
better  drive  on,  Roger?  I'm  afraid  it's 
getting  late." 

He  pulled  out  the  burly  silver  watch 
whose  seal  dangled  by  a  black  ribbon 
from  his  fob. 

"  It's  only  eleven,  we  can  easily  get 
back  by  twelve,  if  we  can  only  find  out 
where  we  are,  and  start  right." 

She  looked  out  to  the  right  and  left, 
and  then  stood  up  and  peered  around. 
"  I  don't  seem  to  know  anything  here. 


It's  a  judgment  on  us  for  talking  so,  if 
we're  lost !" 

"  Then  yonder's  a  sign  of  forgive 
ness,"  said  Roger,  and  he  pointed  with 
his  whip  towards  the  finger-board  at  the 
cross-roads  a  little  way  in  front  of  them. 

"So  it  is!"  she  cried,  joyfully,  and 
she  composed  herself  in  her  seat  again, 
while  Roger  prevailed  with  the  old 
horse  to  go  so  much  farther  as  to  bring 
them  in  reading  range  of  the  finger 
board.  It  pointed  with  one  finger  tow 
ards  the  little  hamlet  or  group  of  houses 
where  Chloe's  grandfather  lived,  seven 
miles  away. 

"  Dear  !"  she  cried.  "  I  don't  see  how 
we  ever  got  so  far,  or  how  we  came. 
We  shall  be  dreadfully  late  to  dinner." 

"Did  they  expect  us  back?"  asked 
the  young  man. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  presume  so.  I 
did  tell  grandfather  we  might  go  to 


Louisburg.  Wheat  does  it  say  on  the 
other  side  ?" 

He  urged  the  horse  a  little  way  round, 
so  as  to  read  on  the  reverse  of  the  board  : 
SHAKERS,  ONE-HALF  MILE. 

"Oh,  now  I  know  where  I  am!"  she 
exulted.  "  Did  you  ever  go  to  a  Shaker 
village?"  and  she  hardly  waited  for  him 
to  say  no.  "  Well,  then,  it's  the  greatest 
thing  in  the  world  to  see ;  and  I  can't 
think  why  I  didn't  bring  yon  here  in 
the  first  place.  I  can  get  grandmother's 
things  here  just  as  well,  and  a  great  deal 
better ;  I  told  her  that  if  we  went  to 
Louisburg  I'd  go  to  the  store  for  her, 
but  now  it's  all  turned  out  for  the  best, 
and  I  can  show  you  the  Shaker  village. 
I  used  to  come  here  with  grandfather 
when  I  was  little.  He  did  some  law 
business  for  them.  You've  surely  heard 
of  them,  Koger?" 

"  Oh   yes ;    but    I    don't    remember 


what,  exactly.  Do  they  have  a  tavern  ? 
Perhaps  we  could  get  dinner  there." 

"  Yes ;  we  conld.  They  have  no  tav 
ern  ;  but  they  entertain  anybody  that 
asks.  If  you  haven't  ever  been  in  a 
Shaker  settlement — drive  right  straight 
along,  Roger  —  I  guess  you'll  think  it 
the  most  curious  place  you  were  ever  in. 
They  think  they're  like  the  early  Chris 
tians;  they  live  all  in  two  or  three  big 
families,  and  own  everything  together. 
They  came  in  here  from  York  State, 
and  they  say  Mother  Ann  saw  the  place 
in  a  vision  before  they  came." 

"Mother  Ann?" 

"Yes;  she's  the  one  that  founded 
them  ;  they  believe  she  had  revelations. 
Folks  say  they  have  a  little  pen  on  the 
side  of  the  hill  behind  the  village,  and 

c5      / 

they  think  they  have  got  Satan  shut  up 
in  it.  Grandfather  doesn't  believe  they 
think  that.  They  think  they  are  living 


the  angelic  life  here  on  earth,  and  they 
dance  in  their  meetings." 

Roger  tried  to  get  the  horse  in  mo 
tion. 

"  Well,  let  us  go  there,  then !  I  should 
like  to  know  what  the  angelic  life  looks 
like." 

"Well,  if  it's  like  that,"  said  Chloe, 
and  she  laughed  as  if  at  some  grotesque 
memory. 

"  Are  they  so  ridiculous  ?" 

"No.  Not  always.  And  I  can't  un 
derstand  folks  going  to  make  fun,  the 
way  some  do.  It  isn't  dancing  exactly, 
it's  more  like  marching.  And  they  have 
preaching,  and  singing  of  their  own  kind 
that  the  spirits  gave  them.  It's  a  pity  it 
isn't  Sunday,  so  that  we  could  go  to  one 
of  their  meetings.  I  don't  know  as  it's 
right  to  go  to  a  meeting  just  out  of  cu 
riosity,  though.  Do  you  think  it  would 
be?" 


"You  seem  to  have  done  so." 

"  Grandfather  took  me,  and  I  was  lit 
tle;  grandmother  didn't  like  it,  even 
then,  I  guess.  I  don't  know  whether 
we  better  go  to  the  Shakers  after  all, 
Eoger !" 

"But  we  can't  go  to  their  meeting 
to-day,  you  say— 

"No,  that's  true.  I  forgot.  And  I 
suppose  it  will  be  about  the  best  thing 
we  can  do.  It's  rather  of  an  old  story 
to  me." 

"  Then  we  won't  go,  Chloe.  I  don't 
care  for  it,  unless  you  do." 

"  Yes,  yes.  Go  on.  I  only  wanted 
to  know  if  you  really  did  care." 

He  shook  the  reins  again  and  said; 
"  Get  up,"  and  the  horse  looked  round, 
as  if  to  assure  himself  that  it  was  he 
was  meant.  He  made  a  final  snatch  at 
random  among  the  nearest  boughs,  and 
came  off  with  his  mouth  full  of  pine- 
needles. 


IV 

THE  grassy-bordered  sandy  street  of 
the  village  was  silent  and  empty  under 
the  shade  of  the  stiff  maples.  The 
lovers  drove  slowly  through,  looking 
out  on  either  side  of  the  chaise  for 
some  one  to  speak  with  ;  but  no  sign  of 
life  showed  itself  in  the  dwelling-houses, 
or  in  the  gardens  above  or  below  the 
thoroughfare,  which  divided  the  slope 
where  the  village  lay.  Sounds  of  labor 
made  themselves  vaguely  heard  from 
the  shops  set  here  and  there  along  the 
road  ;  and  from  farther  up  the  hill-side 
came  the  stamping  of  horses  in  the 
great  barns. 

But  there  was  such  a  stillness  in  the 
air,  which  muffled  these  noises,  that  the 


lovers  involuntarily  sank  their  voices 
in  speaking  together.  "I  don't  know 
where  to  go,  exactly,"  said  Roger.  "  I 
can't  find  anybody." 

"Oh,  well,  don't  let's  stop  then," 
Chloe  answered.  "Let  us  go  right  on 
through.  I  don't  know  as  I  want  to 
stop  very  much,  anyway." 

He  did  not  hear  her,  perhaps,  or  per 
haps  his  curiosity  was  now  piqued,  and 
he  was  not  willing  to  go  farther  with 
out  satisfying  it.  He  was  craning  his 
neck  round  the  side  of  the  chaise,  and 
looking  back  at  the  doorway  of  one  of 
the  buildings. 

"I  thought  I  saw  some  one  in  that 
house — at  the  door." 

She  looked  back,  too.  "Why,  of 
course !  That's  the  office.  I  remember 
it  just  as  well !  I  don't  see  what  I 
mean,  acting  so.  Turn  right  around, 
Roger!  That's  where  they  entertain 


strangers.  What  could  I  be  thinking 
of?"  Her  tremor  of  reluctance,  what 
ever  it  was  from,  was  past,  and  she  urged 
him  to  a  feat  which  had  its  difficulties. 
He  turned  and  drove  back. 

On  the  threshold  of  the  building 
where  they  drove  up,  a  Shaker  brother 
was  standing. 

"Sir,  good -morning!"  the  young 
man  called  politely  to  him.  "  Could  I 
put  up  my  horse  somewhere?  We 
should  like  to  see  the  village,  if  you  al 
low  strangers." 

"Yee,"  said  the  brother.  "I  will 
take  your  horse,"  and  he  came  down 
the  steps  to  the  horse's  head. 

.Roger  helped  Chloe  out,  and  he  saw 
that  her  eyes  were  red  and  her  cheeks 
blurred  from  the  tears  she  had  shed. 
"Wouldn't  you  like  some  water?"  lie 
whispered  ;  and  she  gasped  back, 
"Yes." 


so 


"Could  we  get  some  water  inside?" 
he  asked  the  brother. 

"  Yee ;  you  can  go  into  the  office  with 
the  young  woman.  The  sisters  will  give 
you  some  water.  I  will  see  to  your 
horse." 


WITHIN,  it  was  all  cool  and  bare  and 
clean.  A  sister  came  through  the  car- 
petless  hallway  towards  them,  and  of 
fered  to  show  them  into  the  little  parlor 
beside  the  door. 

Chloe  looked  at  her,  and  then,  after  a 
first  timid  glance,  broke  into  a  smile. 
"I  used  to  come  here  with  my  grand 
father,  Squire  Pullen,  when  I  was  a  lit 
tle  girl.  Don't  you  remember  me?" 

"Nay,"  said  the  sister,  briefly;  but 
she  let  her  eyes  wander  from  the  girl's 
flushing  face  to  the  young  man's  with 
a  demure  and  not  unfriendly  inter 
est. 

"Well,"  said  Chloe,  "we  wanted  to 
see  the  village  if  we  could,  and  I  should 


like  somewhere  to  fix  my  hair;  I'm 
afraid  it's  coming  down." 

"I  will  take  you  to  a  room,"  answered 
the  sister;  and  she  nodded  Roger  tow 
ards  the  parlor  door.  "  You  can  go  in 
there." 

It  was  cool  and  clean,  like  the  hall, 
and  it  seemed  as  bare,  though  there 
were  chairs  and  a  settee  in  it,  and  some 
hooked  rugs  on  the  floor.  There  was 
even  a  looking-glass,  and  on  a  table 
under  it  were  some  Shaker  books  and 
papers,  a  life  of  Ann  Lee,  and  a  volume 
of  doctrine.  He  took  this  up,  and  he 
had  it  in  his  hand  when  Chloe  returned 
with  the  sister,  smiling  and  flushing, 
and  looking  very  gay  and  happy.  "  This 
is  Mr.  Burton,"  she  said.  "Mr.  Burton, 
this  is  Sister  Candace." 

The  sister  smiled  and  stood  apart  from 
the  pair,  looking  them  over,  and  taking 
in  the  fashion  of  their  worldly  dress, 


as  well  as  their  young  beauty.  But  she 
did  not  say  anything,  and  Burton,  after 
a  formal  profession  of  his  pleasure  in 
making  her  acquaintance,  had  to  leave 
the  word  to  Chloe,  who  kept  talking, 
and  would  not  let  him  appear  awkward. 
After  a  moment,  the  sister  said  :  "I  will 
go  and  see  to  the  dinner,"  and  then 
Chloe  ran  over  to  Hoger,  and  hurried  to 
say,  under  her  breath  :  "  I  had  to  tell 
her,  because  I  knew  she  would  guess  it 
anyway;  and  she  knows  grandfather, 
and  I  didn't  want  her  to  think  that  I 
would  go  wandering  about  with  just 
anybody  ;  I  saw  she  wanted  to  ask ;  and 
she  was  so  pleased.  I  had  to  tell  her  all 
about  you,  and  I  don't  believe  but  what 
she  thinks  you're  pretty  nice  appear 
ing,  Roger.  I  could  tell  by  the  way 
she  looked  at  you.  But,  of  course,  she 
couldn't  say  much.  Do  I  look  now  as 
if  I  had  been  crying  any  ?" 


He  glanced  at  her  face5  turned  inno 
cently  upon  him.  u  You  don't  look  as 
if  you  had  ever  shed  a  tear." 

"Well,  I  can't  believe  I  ever  did." 

"  I  wish  I  could  believe  I  hadn't 
made  you." 

"  Oh,  pshaw  !  You  didn't.  I  was  just 
nervous.  I  cry  too  easily.  I  have  got 
to  break  myself  of  it ;  and  you  mustn't 
think  it  means  anything,  because  it 
doesn't.  Don't  you  suppose  I  knew 
just  what  you  meant  ?  I  did,  perfectly 
well,  all  the  time."  She  put  out  the 
hand  that  was  next  him,  and  gave  his  a 
little  clutch,  and  after  that  she  began  to 
talk  in  a  very  loud  voice  about  the  things 
in  the  room.  From  time  to  time  she 
dropped  her  voice,  and  once  she  ex 
plained  in  an  undertone  that  she  had 
asked  Sister  Candace  whether  they  could 
have  dinner.  "  I  didn't  know  but  you 
would  hate  to  ask,"  and  Koger  said, 


gratefully,  yes ;  and  he  was  much  obliged 
to  her. 

"  You  know,  I'm  so  used  to  their 
ways ;  or  I  used  to  be ;  but  I  could 
see  how  it  took  you  aback  when  they 
said  just  yea  and  nay,  to  you.  You 
mustn't  mind  it ;  they  do  it  because 
the  Bible  says  to.  They  do  say  yee, 
but  that's  just  the  way  they  pronounce 
it." 

She  patronized  him  a  little  from  the 
pinnacle  of  her  early  familiarity  with 
the  Shakers,  and  explained  what  the 
office  was,  and  how  it  was  for  business 
and  the  reception  of  visitors  from  the 
world  outside. 

"  Then  you  don't  suppose  they  will 
let  us  go  into  their  family  houses,"  he 
said,  rather  disappointedly. 

"  Why,  I'll  ask  Sister  Candace  when 
we're  at  dinner,"  Chloe  answered, 
consolingly.  "  I  don't  believe  they 


let  everybody,  but  I  guess  they'll  let 
us.  They  think  so  much  of  grand 
father." 


VI 

AN  old  man  came  out  of  the  doorway 
across  the  hall,  and  looked  in  upon  them. 
"  Is  this  Friend  Pullen's  granddaugh 
ter  ?"  he  asked.  He  had  a  shrewd  face, 
but  kindly,  and  he  spoke  neatly,  with  a 
Scotch  accent. 

"  Yes  !"  cried  Chloe.  "  And  I  remem 
ber  you,  Elder  Lindsley.  You  haven't 
changed  at  all  since  I  used  to  come 
here  with  grandfather.  Did  you  know 
me?" 

"  Nay,"  said  the  elder.  "  They  told 
me  in  the  office.  I  am  very  pleased  to 
see  you.  You  are  quite  a  young  wom 
an."  He  spoke  to  her,  but  his  eyes  wan 
dered  to  Roger. 

Her's  followed  them,  and  she  said  : 


u  This  is  Mr.  Barton,  Elder  Lindsley  ; 
and  we're — he's  never  been  in  a  Shak 
er  village  before — and  I  thought — he 
teaches  the  academy  at  Birchfield — and 
do  you  suppose  we  could  go  into  some 
of  the  family  houses?" 

"  Oh  yee,"  the  old  man  answered, 
and  he  gave  Roger  his  hand.  "  We 
shall  be  very  pleased  to  have  you.  They 
said  that  you  were  engaged  to  be  mar 
ried  to  the  young  woman." 

"  My  !"  answered  Chloe,  "  has  she 
told  already !"  and  she  laughed,  while 
Roger  blushed,  and  mumbled  a  confes 
sion  of  the  fact. 

"  Well,  you  must  come  and  see  how 
we  live  in  our  families  without  being 
married." 

"  I  have  been  reading  something  about 
your  system  here,"  said  Roger,  and  he 
looked  down  at  the  volume  of  doctrine 
on  the  table. 


89 


"  I  suppose  it  appears  strange  to 
you,"  the  elder  returned.  "  Bat  we  try 
to  live  as  Jesus  Christ  lived  in  all  things. 
If  you  are  a  teacher,  you  will  have  read 
a  great  many  books — 

"  Not  so  very  many,"  Roger  inter 
posed,  modestly. 

"  And  you  will  know  that  we  are  not 
so  singular  in  our  way  of  life  as  the 
folks  around  us  have  imagined.  We 
are  of  an  order  which  has  appeared  in 
every  religion." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  the  young  man  ad 
mitted.  "  It  is  the  same  principle  that 
has  led  men  out  of  the  world  in  all  ages. 
I  understand  that." 

"Yes.  The  inspiration  of  the  an 
gelic  life  has  never  ceased,  and  you  find 
its  effect  in  the  celibacy  of  the  Budd 
hists  as  well  as  the  Roman  Catholics, 
and  the  Essenes  of  the  Hebrews." 


VII 

CHLOE  looked  at  Roger  with  a  novel 
awe  for  him  as  one  to  whom  such  eso 
teric  things  could  be  intelligibly  spoken. 
Perhaps  a  little  fear  mingled  with  her 
pride;  they  removed  him  from  her,  and 
she  brightened  when,  after  the  talk  got 
farther  away.  Sister  Candace  appeared 
at  the  parlor,  and  brought  her  the  hope 
of  getting  it  back  to  familiar  ground 
again. 

The  elder  said  promptly,  "  I  hope  you 
have 'asked  the  young  friends  to  stay  to 
dinner  with  you,  Candace." 

"Nay,"  said  the  Sister.  "But  we 
have  got  them  dinner." 

"  They  must  be  your  guests,"  said 
the  elder. 


'->      "^"HF 


41 


"  Yee ;  we  shall  be  much  pleased," 
she  returned. 

"  And  after  dinner,"  he  said  to  Roger, 
"  some  of  the  Sisters  will  show  the  young 
woman  and  yourself  through  the  family 
houses.  We  shall  see  each  other  again 
before  you  go." 

He  went  out,  and  the  lovers  followed 
the  Sister  to  a  stairway  descending  to  a 
basement  at  the  end  of  the  hall.  Roger 
looked  round  after  the  old  man.  The 
Sister  explained  to  his  returning  glance, 
"  Elder  Lindsley  eats  in  the  church-fam 
ily  house.  He  is  one  of  the  minis 
ters." 

She  took  her  guests  into  a  room  where 
a  table  was  laid  with  such  simple  and 
wholesome  abundance  that  Chloe  cried 
out  at  the  sight :  "  Why,  you  look  as  if 
you  had  been  expecting  us  for  a  week, 
Candace !" 

"We  are  always  expecting  some  one," 


said  the  Sister.  "At  least,  we  are  always 
prepared." 

"Do  you  mean,"  the  young  man  de 
manded,  "that  you  give  meals  to  any 
who  come  to  you  ?" 

"  Yee.  Give  to  him  that  asketh,"  the 
Sister  returned. 

They  seemed  to  be  alone  in  the  room 
with  her;  but  if  Chloe  looked  round,  it 
was  to  glimpse,  at  a  half-opened  door, 
some  vanishing  face  which  had  been 
fixed  upon  herself  or  on  Roger. 

When  Sister  Candace  had  placed 
them  at  table,  and  gone  out  to  get  their 
dinner  in  the  kitchen  adjoining,  it  was 
not  she  who  returned,  but  another  Sis 
ter,  and  it  was  still  a  third  who  came  to 
take  the  things  away. 


VIII 

THE  same  curiosity  followed  them  or 
went  before  them  in  the  dwellings  they 
visited,  after  they  had  finished  their 
dinner,  and  the  officer-Sisters  delivered 
them  over  to  the  other  Sisters.  Some 
rumor  of  their  relation  to  each  other 
seemed  to  have  spread  through  the 
quiet  community,  and  stirred  it  from 
its  wonted  calm.  Perhaps  some  of  them 
remembered  Chloe  when  she  was  a  lit 
tle  girl,  and  used  to  visit  them  with  her 
grandfather.  Perhaps  it  was  enough 
that  any  young  girl  should  be  among 
them  with  the  young  man  she  was  go 
ing  to  marry.  They  were  met  every 
where  by  more  Sisters  than  sufficed  to 
show  them  through  the  huge  dwellings, 


44 


which  they  explored  in  every  part,  with 
joyful  outcry  from  Chloe  at  the  perfec 
tion  of  all  the  domestic  appointments, 
apparent  to  her  house-keeping  instincts. 
She  made  Koger  notice  how  sweet  and 
clean  the  white  -  scrubbed  floors  were  ; 
how  the  windows  shone,  and  not  a  speck 
of  dust  rested  on  chair  or  table,  or  even 
quivered  in  the  pure  air,  which  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  breathe.  In  the  kitchen  she 
said  she  should  like  to  spend  her  whole 
life  in  such  a  place.  She  questioned  the 
Sisters  about  their  way  of  doing  their 
work,  and  their  preserving  and  pickling. 
From  her  superabundant  joy  in  her 
own  fate  she  flattered  them  in  theirs, 
and  pretended  to  wish  she,  too,  could 
have  such  a  room  as  many  they  saw, 
appointed  for  two  Sisters  to  dwell  to 
gether,  with  two  white  beds,  two  rock 
ing-chairs,  two  stands,  and  a  sturdy 
wood  stove,  and  rugs  over  the  spotless 


floors.  She  should  like  nothing  better, 
she  sighed,  with  a  sweet  hypocrisy;  and 
she  would  not  appear  conscious  of  her 
interest  for  the  Sisters,  singly  or  in 
groups,  whom  they  met,  and  who  greet 
ed  or  pursued  her  with  their  eager  eyes, 
as  she  came  up  and  passed  by,  in  silent 
homage  to  a  girl  who  was  engaged  to 
be  married,  and  who  would  be  impor 
tant  from  that  fact  to  women  anywhere, 
let  alone  in  a  place  where  nobody  ever 
got  married.  She  put  Roger  forward 
when  he  was  not  sufficiently  evident. 
She  laughed  to  him  in  pleasure  with  this 
or  that ;  she  made  jokes  to  him,  and  co 
quetted  for  him  with  the  Sisters. 

In  one  of  the  great  rooms  where  the 
family  meetings  were  held,  she  tried  the 
spring  of  the  floor  which  had  been  laid 
for  the  marching  or  dancing  of  the  Shak 
er  worship;  and  as  she  stood  in  the 
centre  of  the  place,  with  her  slender 


arms  stretched  out,  and  her  reticule  dan 
gling  from  one  wrist,  and  looked  down 
to  find  her  little  feet  beneath  her  deep 
ruffles,  perhaps  she  knew  that  she  made 
a  charming  picture,  and  wished  to  be 
envied. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  old 
minister  who  had  preached  joined  the 
group  at  the  door,  and  smiled  at  her 
over  the  shoulders  of  the  Sisters.  The 
little  involuntary  flutter  among  them 
spread  electrically  to  her.  She  quailed 
in  a  deprecation  half  sincere,  half  saucy. 

"Nay,"  the  old  man  called  to  her. 
"It  is  no  harm.  Wouldn't  you  like  to 
be  a  Shaker  Sister,  and  dance  here  with 
us?" 

"  In  this  dress?"  she  cried,  putting  its 
worldly  prettiness  in  evidence. 

"  Yee,  if  you  chose.  As  long  as  you 
wished  to  wear  it  we  should  not  ob- 
jeet." 


SHE    TRIED    THE    SPRING    OF    THE    FLOOR 


THF     '       \ 

DIVERSITY   I 

o 


47 


"  Oh,  I  never  believed  the  Shakers 
were  so  wicked,"  she  said,  audaciously ; 
and  now  she  left  her  place,  and  came 
and  sheltered  herself  next  her  lover, 
who  was  standing  near  the  minister. 

"  I  was  wondering,"  the  old  man  said, 
still  smiling  kindly  upon  her,  "whether 
you  would  like  to  look  at  the  barns  and 
shops  and  gardens.  You  have  seen  how 
\ve  live  ;  you  should  see  how  we  work." 

"  No,  I  am  too  tired,"  she  began,  with 
a  glance  at  Roger. 

"  Then  the  young  man  would  like  to 
come  ?"  the  minister  suggested. 

"  Yery  much ;  I  should  like  to  come 
very  much,  indeed.  And  I  should  like 
to  talk  with  you  a  little  more  about 
your  life  here  !" 

Roger  had  not  spoken  with  so  much 
energy  before;  there  was  almost  passion 
in  his  voice,  so  that  she  looked  at  him 
in  surprise. 


48 


A  shadow  of  vexation  passed  over 
her  face,  but  left  it  fond  again. 

"Well,  then,  I  will  wait  for  you  in 
the  office.  But  you  mustn't  be  very 
long.  They  will  wonder  what  has  kept 
us  so,  at  grandfather's." 

"  We  will  go  as  far  as  the  office  with 
you,"  said  the  minister.  "It  is  on  our 
way.  I  must  see  the  office  Sisters,  and 
give  them  their  charges  about  not  try 
ing  to  make  a  Shaker  of  you.  They 
are  great  hands  for  gathering  folks  in." 

"Oh,  I  will  look  out  for  that!"  the 
girl  mocked  back. 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  man,  soberly, 
"  I  should  like  to  have  you  realize  that 
we  are  just  a  large  family  of  brothers 
and  sisters,  and  nothing  else.  There  is 
nothing  unnatural  about  us  when  you 
come  to  know  us  truly." 

"I  don't  think  there's  anything 
strange  about  you,  Elder  Lindsley," 


4'.) 


said  the  girl,  affectionately.  "I  used 
to  want  to  be  a  Shaker  Sister,  when  I 
was  little,  and  came  here  with  grand 
father;  and  to-day  it's  brought  it  all 
back.  I  know  that  you  are  just  like  broth 
ers  and  sisters,  and  more  so  than  the  real 
ones  oftentimes;  and  if — if—  I  know 
you  think  you  are  living  the  true  life, 
and  I  only  hope  you  won't  look  down 
on  us  too  much,  if  we  can't."  She 
laughed,  but  the  elder  replied  seriously: 
"  Nay,  you  mustn't  think  we  look 
down  on  marriage,  or  condemn  it ;  that 
is  a  mistake  that  the  world  outside  often 
makes  concerning  us.  Jesus  did  not 
marry,  but  he  made  the  water  wine  at 
a  marriage  feast.  He  said  that  in 
Heaven  there  was  neither  marrying  nor 
giving  in  marriage,  and  Ann  taught  by 
her  example  that  there  could  be  no  an 
gelic  life  in  marriage,  but  in  freedom 
from  marriage;  the  angelic  life  could 


50 


begin  before  death  as  well  as  after 
death.  We  do  not  say  that  marriage 
is  wrong;  and  we  know  that  there  are 
many  happy  marriages,  which  are  en 
tered  into  from  pure  affection.  I  am 
sure  we  all  wish  and  hope  that  yours 
will  be  so." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Elder  Lindsley.  We 
are  both  going  to  try  to  be  good,  and  if 
we  are  not  happy — •well,  it  won't  be 
Roger's  fault." 

The  old  man  smiled  at  the  gay  tears 
that  came  into  the  eyes  she  turned  on 
her  lover.  But  he  resumed  with  in 
creasing  earnestness :  "  If  it  were  my 
place  to  advise  you — 

"  Yes,  yes !     It  is  !" 

"  Or,  if  I  were  to  counsel  with  you, 
I  should  warn  you  against  the  very 
strength  of  your  affection.  The  love 
that  unites  young  people  cannot  keep 
its  promise  of  happiness.  It  seems  to 


51 


give  all,  but  it  really  asks  all.  The  man 
and  the  woman  suppose  that  they  love 
one  another  unselfishly  ;  but  it  is  the 
very  life  of  such  love  that  each  should 
be  loved  again ;  and  this  is  not  the  law 
of  heavenly  love.  If  any  one  will  prove 
the  truth  of  what  I  say,  let  him  think 
of  what  comes  into  the  heart  of  the  man 
or  woman  who  loves,  and  doubts  if  he 
or  she  be  equally  loved  again." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl.  "  That  is  what 
I  have  often  thought,  and  I  know  that 
it  is  selfish.  But  we  can  make  it  un 
selfish  ;  and  we  are  going  to.  That 
is,  each  one  is  going  to  try  to  live  up  to 
a  higher  rule." 

The  minister  passed  this  vague  ex 
pression  of  a  vague  aspiration.  "All 
we  say  of  Shakerism  is  that  it  is  a  city 
of  refuge  from  self.  It  welcomes  all 
who  would  be  at  peace;  it  gives  rest. 
You  must  not  think  that  we  are  not 


5:3 


men  and  women  of  like  nature  with 
others,  and  that  it  has  cost  us  nothing  to 
renounce  the  Adamic  order  of  life.  We 
have  had  our  thoughts  and  longings  for 
wife  and  husband  and  children,  and 
the  homes  they  build.  Nay,  several 
among  us  have  known  all  the  happiness 
that  the  marriage  relation  can  give,  and 
have  voluntarily  abandoned  it  for  the 
gospel  relation.  At  the  same  time,  as 
I  said  before,  we  do  not  condemn  mar 
riage.  Marriage  is  the  best  thing  in 
the  world,  but  not  the  best  thing  out  of 
the  world.  Few  things  are  more  pleas 
ing  to  us  than  the  sight  of  a  young 
couple  living  rightly  in  their  order; 
and  we  honor,  as  much  as  any  one,  a  fa 
ther  and  mother  dwelling  together  at 
the  end  of  a  long  life,  with  their  chil 
dren  and  their  grandchildren  around 
them.  Only,  even  in  those  cases,  we 
remember  that  marriage  is  earthly  and 


68 


human,  and  our  gospel  relation  is  di 
vine." 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed  !"  said  the  girl,  gen 
erously. 

They  were  at  the  office -gate,  where 
Roger  and  the  minster  left  her.  "  I 
won't  be  long,"  Roger  said.  She  looked 
round  over  her  shoulder,  after  they 
turned  away,  and  caught  her  lover  look 
ing  back.  She  swept  the  environment 
with  a  lightning  glance,  and  then  flung 
him  a  swift  kiss,  and  demurely  mounted 
the  office-steps  and  went  indoors. 


IX 

BUKTON  did  not  return  for  a  long 
while,  and  Chloe,  where  she  sat  in  talk 
with  the  office  Sisters,  made  excuses  for 
him  from  time  to  time.  At  last  she  saw 
him  through  the  window  at  the  office- 

O 

gate.  Elder  Lindslej  had  come  back 
with  him,  but  he  seemed  to  be  taking 
leave  of  him  there;  and  she  heard  him 
saying:  "It  is  something  that  requires 
serious  reflection.  It  is  not  to  be  decided 
rashly." 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  rash,"  the  young 
man  replied.  "  But  if  I  see  the  truth— 

The  old  man  lifted  his  hand  in  a  sort 
of  deprecation,  and  walked  away.  Roger 
came  up  the  steps  and  into  the  parlor, 
with  a  face  that  made  the  girl  laugh. 


55 


"I  don't  wonder  you're  scared,"  she 
began.  "But  if  it's  late,  I'm  as  much 
to  blame  as  you  are,  I  guess.  I  didn't 
notice  till  a  minute  ago  that  it  was 

O 

nearly  four.  But  now  I  think  we  better 
be  going.  I  don't  know  what  grand 
mother  will  think." 

"  I  will  get  the  horse,"  said  Burton, 
with  the  same  air  of  distraction. 

When  they  were  in  the  chaise  again, 
and  driving  away,  after  as  many  fare 
wells  from  her,  smiled  and  nodded  at 
the  office  Sisters,  as  he  would  stay  for, 
she  broke  out :  "  Well,  I  have  had  the 
greatest  time  !  Don't  you  believe,  I  had 
to  tell  the  Sisters  all  about  how  we  first 
met,  and  everything !  They  were  just 
as  pleased  to  know  as  anybody ;  and 
they  asked  when  we  expected  to  be 
married,  and  whether  we  were  going  to 
keep  house,  or  stay  on  with  father; 
and  how  old  you  were,  and  I  was ;  and 


56 


whether  your  father  and  mother  were 
living,  and  you  belonged  to  church ;  and 
I  don't  know  what  else  !  I  guess  you'll 
think  I  was  pretty  silly  to  talk  with 
them  so;  and  I  don't  know  but  I  was; 
but  I  saw  they  did  want  to  know  so. 
They  were  real  nice,  too;  and  they  did 
make  a  set  at  me,  just  as  Elder  Lindsley 
said  they  would.  They  asked  me  wheth 
er  I  saw  anything  about  their  life  I 
didn't  like,  for  they  wanted  to  know 
oftentimes  how  it  seemed  to  the  world 
outside ;  and  when  I  praised  it  up,  and 
said  I  didn't  see  a  thing  in  it  that  wasn't 
just  as  sweet  as  it  could  be,  and  you 
didn't  either,  that  gave  them  a  chance, 
and  they  said  the  whole  family  had 
taken  the  greatest  fancy  to  us,  and  why 
couldn't  we  come  and  live  with  them? 
I  couldn't  hardly  believe  my  ears,  but 
they  were  in  dead  earnest;  they  are  so 
innocent.  I  tried  to  laugh  it  off ;  and 


57 


I  told  them  we  would,  maybe,  when  we 
were  old  folks ;  but  they  said  they  had 
old  folks  enough,  and  they  wanted 
young  people  to  join  them.  They  told 
me.  all  about  Mother  Ann,  and  the  per 
secution  they  used  to  suffer,  here ;  and 
about  their  spiritual  experiences  ;  and 
they  talked  their  doctrine  into  me  good 
and  strong,  so  that  I  began  to  get  a  lit 
tle  bit  frightened,  one  while ;  I  didn't 
know  what  they  would  say  next.  I  guess 
they  saw  that,  because  they  began  to 
turn  the  subject.  They  had  lots  of  sto 
ries  about  the  different  visitors,  and  what 
they  seemed  to  expect  to  see ;  and  how 
they  wanted  to  go  all  through  the  dwell 
ing-houses,  and  couldn't  understand  how 

O  > 

they  were  just  like  any  other  private 
house.  I  guess  we  have  been  particu 
larly  privileged,  because  they  said  it  was 
only  when  they  saw  folks  really  cared 
that  they  let  them  go  through.  They 


58 


all  admire  you,  Roger,"  she  went  on, 
with  a  fond  look  at  his  dreamy  face ; 
"  and  I  guess  if  they  could  get  hold  of 
you,  they  wouldn't  trouble  much  about 
gathering  me  in  !"  She  laughed  at  her 
own  words,  and  did  not  mind  his  con 
tinuing  grave.  "  One  of  the  Sisters  said 
they  wanted  educated  people  to  help 
spread  the  truth  among  people  from 
the  world  outside  when  they  came  to 
meeting ;  and  another  said  that  gone 
look  in  your  face  made  her  think  of 
prophesying;  but  I  told  her  that  it  was 
nothing  but  mooning,  and  we  got  into 
a  perfect  gale.  But  if  you  did  join  the 
Shakers,  Roger,  I  guess  they'd  pet  you 
up  enough,  and  they  wouldn't  object 
to  all  the  poetry  you  were  a  mind  to 
make.  Why,  Roger,  what  is  the  mat 
ter?" 

"  With  me  ?"  asked  the  young  man, 
with  a  sudden  turn  towards  her. 


5',) 


"  Yes ;  you  haven't  spoken  a  word 
since  we  started ;  and  I  do  believe  this 
is  the  first  time  you've  even  looked  at 
me!"  There  was  a  little  note  of  indig 
nation  in  her  voice,  which  was  half  a 
tremor  of  laughter,  for  though  he  was 
staring  hard  enough  at  her  now,  he 
seemed  not  to  see  her.  "  Has  anything 
happened?  Did  Elder  Lindsley  say 
something  you  didn't  like  ?  You  look 
as  cross  as  two  sticks !" 

"  1'rn  not  cross,"  Burton  began.  "  He 
said  nothing  that  wasn't  perfectly— 

"Did  lie  make  a  set  at  you,  too?  I 
didn't  believe  he  would,  after  he  warned 
me  so  against  the  Sisters.  But  didn't 
you  think  he  spoke  beautifully  about 
marriage — praising  it  up,  the  way  he 
did?" 

"  Praise  up  marriage !"  the  young 
man  echoed.  "  He  condemned  it." 

"  Not  at  all !    He  said  it  was  the  best 


60 


thing  in  the  world.  Didn't  you  hear 
him  say  they  did  not  condemn  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  he  said  that  in  the  heav 
enly  order — 

"  Oh,  well,  he  had  to  say  that  because 
he  was  a  Shaker.  He  had  to  defend 
himself,  somehow." 

Roger  looked  at  the  gay,  bright  face 
so  close  to  his  shoulder,  and  whatever 
he  might  have  answered,  he  said  noth 
ing. 

u  But  I  like  the  Shakers,"  she  ran  on. 
"7"  think  they  are  as  nice  as  they  can 
be;  and  if  folks  want  to  live  the  way 
they  do,  I  don't  see  as  anybody  has  a 
right  to  say  anything.  How  sweet  the 
Sisters  do  look  ;  and  so  clean  !  And  the 
Brothers,  all  of  them,  with  their  hair 
all  coming  down  their  necks,  that  way, 
and  their  white  collars  close  up  under 
their  chins?  But  it  seems  very  funny 
the  men  should  let  their  hair  grow  long, 


61 


and  the  women  crop  theirs  off  short. 
You  know  they  have  it  cropped  off 
short  under  their  caps  ?" 

"  No,  I  didn't  know  that." 

"  Yes.  Sister  Candace  said  so  when 
I  was  fixing  mine.  But  she  said  mine 
was — she  said  nicer  things  about  it  than 
you  ever  did,  Eoger.  Why,  how  ab 
sent-minded  you  are!  What  were  you 
thinking  about  then — just  that  very 
minute  ?" 

"  I  ?    I  wasn't  saying  anything  !" 

"  Of  course  you  were  not !  And  I 
don't  believe  you  were  thinking  any 
thing  either,  if  the  truth  was  known. 
What  was  it  you  and  Elder  Lindsley 
were  talking  about  there  at  the  gate  ? 
You  said,  'If  I  see  the  truth'—  I 
guess  the  Sisters  thought  you  were 
going  to  prophesy !" 

"  Oh  !"  Roger  came  to  himself  in  an 
outcry  which  seemed  partly  a  recogni- 


62 


tion  of  the  fact,  and  partly  a  burst  of 
perplexity.  He  tried  several  times  to 
find  the  next  word,  but  the  reins 
slipped  from  his  hands,  and  he  groped, 
as  if  in  the  dark,  for  them  on  the  floor 
of  the  chaise  before  he  spoke  again. 
"It  was  something  we  had  been  talk 
ing  about.  Why  did  it  seem  so  strange 
to  you  that  the  Sisters  should  want  us 
to  join  them  ?"  He  looked  at  her  now 
steadily,  but  with  the  vagueness  that 
wras  always  in  his  eyes.  "Did  you 
think  they  hadn't  a  right  to  do  it?" 

"  Of  course  they  had  a  right  to  do  it! 
If  they  believe  they're  leading  the  an 
gelic  life,  it's  only  common  charity  for 
them  to  want  other  folks  to  lead  it  too." 

He  winced  a  little,  as  if  at  a  lurking 
mockery  in  her  answer,  but  lie  asked : 
"  And  should  you  blame  Elder  Linds- 
ley  if  he  had  tried  to  persuade  me,  as 
the  Sisters  tried  to  persuade  you  ?" 


She  hesitated  a  moment.  "I  don't 
know  as  I  should."  She  added,  gayly : 
"But  I  wish  I  could  have  heard  what 
he  said,  and  what  yon  said  back." 

"And  what  should  you  think,"  he 
returned,  austerely,  "  if  I  told  you  that 
I  said  nothing  back?" 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Roger,"  she 
answered,  with  a  tender  anxiety,  and 
she  tried  to  steal  her  hand  into  that 
hand  of  his  which  lay  on  his  knee  next 
to  her.  But  his  hand  was  gathered  into 
a  fist,  and  she  failed,  and  withdrew  her 
self  into  her  corner  of  the  chaise. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  mean,"  he  burst  out,  "that  there 
is  no  answer  to  make  to  them  ;  that 
their  doctrine  is  right,  and  their  life  is 
right."  He  seemed  to  wish  to  go  on, 
but  the  impulse  that  had  carried  him 
so  far  failed  him. 

She  was  too  Puritan  in  race  to  let 


him  shrink  from  the  logic  of  his  words. 
"  Then  you  would  like  to  he  a  Shaker 
yourself?"  she  said,  gravely;  and  she 
looked  steadily  at  him  from  as  great  a 
distance  as  she  could  make  between 
them  in  the  chaise. 

He  held  his  face  doggedly  away. 
"Didn't  you  tell  the  Sisters  pretty 
much  the  same  thing?" 

u  That  isn't  the  question,"  she  an 
swered,  more  gently.  "  I  told  them  I 
saw  nothing  to  blame  in  their  way  of 
life." 

"A  thing  cannot  be  blameless  and 
yet  be  an  error,"  he  interrupted.  "  They 
are  right,  or  they  are  wrong." 

That  was  logic,  too ;  and  she  could 
not  gainsay  him.  In  her  silence  he 
went  on  :  "Nothing  that  Elder  Lindsley 
said  convinced  me ;  he  tried  to  hold  me 
back.  But  I  saw  the  truth  for  myself 
in  the  light  of  the  gospel,  that  sinned 


65 


round  about  me  suddenly,  as  it  shone 
round  Paul.  Those  people  have  found 
peace — and  all  the  rest  of  the  world  is 
at  war.  '  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know 
them.'  It  must  be  that  they  are  right ! 
They  live  as  brothers  and  sisters  —  as 
angels.  Yes,  it  is  the  angelic  life  !" 

She  only  repeated,  "  Then  you  would 
like  to  be  a  Shaker  yourself  ?" 

He  did  not  answer  her  directly.  "  I 
can  remember  my  own  father  and  moth 
er,  even.  They  thought  all  the  world 
of  each  other,  but  they  were  always 
disputing  and  quarrelling;  and  look 
around  at  all  the  married  people  !  Ev 
ery  house  is  a  scene  of  contention.  Will 
against  will  always  !  Your  grandfather 
and  grandmother,  who  have  lived  to 
gether  for  fifty  years,  do  they  agree? 
But  the  Shakers  have  peace ;  the  king 
dom  of  heaven  has  come  to  them  on 
earth." 

5 


"  Then  you  would  like  to  be  a  Shaker, 
too,"  she  repeated  again,  but  less  harsh 
ly  than  before. 

"I  can  be  nothing  without  you,  Chloe! 
We  should  not  care  less  for  each  other, 
but — differently.  Let  us  both — I  have 
had  this  day  a  vision  of  the  truth,  and 
now  I  see  that  all  we  have  thought,  all 
we  have  hoped,  from  our — our — love,  is 
a  mistake,  a  snare,  a  delusion  !  But  there 
is  another  love!  There  are  Brothers  and 
Sisters  there  who  were  once  husbands 
and  wives.  I  feel  bound  as  much  as 
they  were.  But  we  could  join  the 
Shakers,  and  be  as  free  as  they  are 
as  the  angels  are—  I  have  hurt  your 
feelings !" 

"  Ah,"  cried  the  girl,  "  you  don't 
know  what  you've  done !  It  isn't  my 
feelings  you've  hurt !"  And  perhaps  in 
these  words  she  meant  to  express  what 
was  otherwise  unsayable;  the  wound  to 


something  deeper  than  feeling,  to  her 
womanhood  itself,  to  what  was  most  sa 
cred  and  most  helpless  in  it.  "  Do  yon 
expect  me  to  argue  with  yon,  Hoger  ? 
To  tell  you  that  I  wish  to  be  your  wife, 
if  you  don't  wish  to  be  my  husband  ?" 

"  No,  no  !  Surely  not  that !  I  onty 
wish  you  to  see  this  step  as  I  do,  and  to 
take  it  with  me." 

She  slowly  shook  her  head,  and  he 
added : 

"  For  I  can  never  take  it  without 
you !" 

"  Yes,  you  can,  Roger !"  she  returned. 
"  And  you  will,  if  you  are  convinced. 
But  are  .you  really,  really  in  earnest  ? 
No,  you  needn't  tell  me !"  She  was 
silent,  and  then  she  said,  desolately, 
"  Well,  I  won't  stand  in  your  way !  I 
knew  I  wasn't  equal  to  you — " 

"Chloe!" 

"  And  I  always  thought  something 


68 


would  happen.  Ob,  I  guess  I'm  pun 
ished  enough  for  going  to  the  Shakers 
with  you !" 

"  It  was  providential — it  was  ordered, 
Chloe.  Come  back  with  me,  and  let  us 
talk  it  over  with  them;  and  then,  if  you 
can't  see  it  as  I  do — 

"You'll  give  it  up,  and  come  away 
with  me  ?  No,  thank  you,  Roger  !  I 
won't  be  a  stumbling-block  to  you,  and 
I  would  sooner  die  than—  I  don't 
blame  you  ;  and  I  want  you  should  go 
back  to  the  Shakers.  Yes, I  do!  Right 
now!"  She  laid  her  hands  upon  the 
reins,  and  the  old  horse  was  only  too 
willing  to  stop. 

"  Chloe,  I  will  never  go  without  you !" 

"  You  will  never  go  with  me.  And 
now,  if  you  have  a  grain  of  pity  in  you, 
you'll  get  out,  and  let  me  go  home  alone. 
I  can  find  the  way,  if  you're  not  here 
to  blind  me.  My  head's  all  in  a  whirl— 


I  can't  take  it  in !  I  thought  we  had 
the  highest  claim  to  each  other;  and 
that  there  was  something  —  something 
we  oughtn't  to  give  up,  even  for  the 
sake  of  getting  to  heaven.  '  /  wouldn't 
have  done  it.  But  I  don't  blame  you, 
Roger,  if  you  don't  see  it  so.  I  can't 
go  to  the  Shakers  with  you,  but  you 
can  go,  and  I  will  let  you,  freety ;  and 
if  it  is  on  your  conscience,  I  will  never 
have  one  hard  thought  of  you — and  I 
wish  you  to  go. — Oh  !"  She  broke  into 
a  passion  of  grief,  which  was  partly  a 
passion  of  astonishment,  for  he  rose,  as 
if  to  obey  her,  and  get  down  from  the 
chaise. 

"  Roger,  Roger  !  are  you  really  going 
to  leave  me  ?" 

"  You  said  to  do  it." 

"But  what  shall  I  do?"  she  pleaded, 
piteously.  "What  shall  I  say  to  them 
at  grandfather's  ?" 


70 


"  I  will  stay  and  take  you  home ; 
and  I  will  tell  them  myself.  There  is 
no  haste.  I  will  go  home  with  you — 
to  your  grandfather's  —  your  father's. 
We  can  go  back  to  Birchfield,  and  I  will 
tell  your  father — I  will  explain  to  him." 

He  had  sat  down  again  and  taken  the 
reins.  She  caught  them  fiercely  from 
him.  "Do  you  think  I  will  let  you  ap 
pear  so  before  them  ?  No  !  1  will  tell 
them  ;  1  will  explain !  And  I  will  go 
down  on  my  knees  to  them  in  shame. 
Yes,  they  were  right  about  you,  Roger 
Burton,  and  I  was  the  simpleton — to 
believe  in  you,  to  trust  .you.  Oh,  I  am 
punished !  Are  you  staying  here  be 
cause  you  think  I  will  change  ?  If  you 
stay,  I  will  get  out  myself,  and  walk  to 
grandfather's." 

"  I  will  not  make  you  walk,  but  I 
will  follow  you" — and  now  he  really 
dismounted. 


n 


"  Don't  you  dare  !"  she  cried.  "  Oh, 
I  forgive  you,  Roger !  You  don't  know 
how  much  I  forgive  you.  You  can 
never  know." 

She  began  to  moan  and  to  cry;  she 
pulled  weakly  at  the  reins,  and  the  old 
horse  started  on. 

Ro^er  stood  in  the  road  and  watched 

O 

the  chaise  out  of  sight. 


THE  Brethren  and  the  Sisters  were 
gathering  in  the  church  building  for  the 
Sunday  morning  service.  They  came 
from  the  West  Family  and  the  East 
Family,  in  little  groups  of  the  different 
sexes,  moving  silently  along  the  grassy 
borders  of  the  sandy  village  street,  and 
they  silently  issued  by  ones  and  twos 
from  the  doors  of  the  plain,  large  build 
ings  of  the  Church  Family,  and  entered 
the  plain,  small  church-house,  the  Sisters 
in  their  straight  drab  gowns  and  stiff, 
wire-framed  gauze  caps,  which  hid  their 
hair,  and  the  Brothers  in  their  severe 
suits  of  gray  or  brown,  their  formless 
trousers  and  buttonless  coats  of  Quaker 
cut,  and  their  straggling  locks  falling  to 


their  necks  under  their  wide-brimmed 
hats  without  ribbons.  They  had  set, 
serious  faces,  and  the  little  children  who 
paced  gravely  along  beside  them  —  the 
boys  with  the  men,  and  the  girls  with 
the  women — had  faces  as  set  and  serious 
as  their  elders.  It  was  all  so  still,  in  the 
glisten  of  the  morning  sun,  with  those 
figures  tending  noiselessly  towards  one 
point,  that  it  was  like  a  vision,  and  they 
were  like  spirits. 

Within  the  church-house  they  took 
their  places  in  rows,  fronting  one  an 
other —  the  men  on  one  side  and  the 
women  on  the  other;  the  children  were 
divided,  the  boys  from  the  girls;  and  as 
the  neighbor-folk  began  to  come  in  from 

C5  O 

the  outside,  they  were  assorted  in  like 
manner.  Among  the  strangers  there 
were  some  fashionably -dressed  people 
from  a  summer  resort  not  far  away; 
they  had  come  in  carriages,  which  they 


had  left  standing  in  the  care  of  their 
coachmen  along  the  street ;  but  they  had 
left  the  rule  of  their  world  -there,  too, 
and  conformed  to  the  Shaker  custom  in 
the  Shaker  church. 

It  was  some  time  after  the  last  comer 
was  seated  before  the  Brothers  or  Sisters 
made  any  sign  of  life.'  Then  one  of  the 
Sisters  began  to  sing,  and  presently  they 
all  joined  her,  the  men  as  well  as  the 
women,  and  softly  beat  time  to  their 
singing  on  the  broad  napkins  stretched 
across  their  knees.  When  the  singing 
was  over,  one  and  another  spoke  briefly 
upon  any  serious  thing  he  or  she  had  in 
mind.  Presently,  they  all  rose  and  put 
back  their  seats  against  the  wall,  and,  in 
the  space  left  free,  they  formed  them 
selves  into  two  irregular  circles,  and 
began  a  brisk  march,  while  they  kept 
time  to  their  chant  with  a  certain  joyous 
gesticulation.  The  air  had  a  musical 


law  of  its  own,  with  strange  and  abrupt 
changes  of  time,  and  it  ceased  with  a 
close  as  sudden  as  any  of  the  changes; 
the  dance  dissolved;  the  Brothers  went 
back  to  their  seats  against  one  wall,  and 

O 

the  Sisters  to  theirs  against  the  other. 

The  Shakers  of  all  ages  shared  in  this 
rhythmical  march.  One  weighty  Sister, 
indeed,  seemed  to  be  excused  from  it ; 
she  sat  still,  and  kept  time  with  her 
hands  to  the  tune  which  her  feet  might 
not  follow  with  her  vast  bulk.  But  she 
was  alone  in  her  exemption  ;  the  young 
est  of  the  little  wards  of  the  family 
obeyed  the  music  with  the  same  joy  and 
the  same  tottering  step  as  the  tall  old 
man  who  led  the  rest  in  the  mystic 
round.  He  stooped  a  little,  but  his 
downward  face  had  the  beauty  of  feat 
ure  which  age  refines  rather  than  wastes, 
and  the  perfect  silver  of  his  hair  falling 
to  his  throat  gave  his  face  a  patriarchal 


76 


dignity.  His  hands  wavered  like  his 
feet ;  he  did  not  always  reach  the  close 
of  a  bar  with  the  rest  of  the  singers ;  a 
rapture,  which  was  like  a  remembered 
rapture,  appeared  through  the  fatigue 
which  his  countenance  expressed. 

When  the  Brethren  and  Sisters  were 
again  still  in  their  places,  an  elderly 
Brother  came  forward  and  delivered  a 
brief  homily,  mainly  directed  against 
the  natural  propensities  in  all  kinds,  but 
bearing  somewhat  more  severely  upon 
the  tea-habit  among  women,  and  admon 
ishing  all  his  hearers  of  the  evil  conse 
quences  of  so  much  hot,  unleavened 
bread  as  he  assumed  they  were  in  the 
custom  of  eating. 

He  sat  down,  and  another  elderly 
Brother  rose  and  said  :  "  The  meeting 
is  dismissed." 


XI 

THE  strangers  from  the  world  outside 
quickly  dispersed,  until  none  remained 
except  a  young  girl  and  an  old  lady  of 
those  who  had  driven  over  from  the  sum 
mer  resort,  and  who  lingered  until  most 
of  the  Brothers  and  Sisters  had  gone,  too. 
Certain  of  the  younger  and  stronger 
Shakeresses  had  stayed  to  help  out  that 
weighty  Sister  who  had  not  joined 
in  the  dance,  and  there  was  a  kindly- 
looking  Brother  who  was  waiting  for 
them  to  get  her  away  before  he  shut  the 
windows  and  closed  the  door.  When  he 
came  back  into  the  church-house,  after 
giving  a  hand  with  the  Sister  down  the 
steps,  he  found  the  old  lady  and  the 
young  girl,  who  was  fretting,  with  a 


78 


very  young  girl's  fear  of  indecorum : 
"What  can  you  want  to  say  to  him, 
grandmamma?  Do  come  on  !" 

The  old  lady,  who  was  something  like 
a  young  girl,  too,  in  a  ghostly  fashion, 
and  had  that  grace  of  figure  and  car 
riage  which  often  outlasts,  youth,  would 
not  be  bidden.  She  moved  up  to  the 
Brother  and  asked  :  "  Was  that  very  old 
man  who  led  in  the  marching  Roger 
Burton  ?" 

"  Yee.  Father  Burton  we  call  him. 
He  always  leads,"  said  the  Brother,  with 
the  pride  and  pleasure  humanity  feels 
in  the  power  of  any  of  the  race  to  hold 
out  against  time.  "  On  towards  ninety 
now,  too !" 

"I  should  like  to  speak  with  him," 
said  the  old  lady,  and  at  this  the  young 
girl  seemed  arrested  in  another  protest 
by  pure  astonishment.  "I  must!" 

"Oh  nay," returned  the  Shaker,  with 


a  smile  of  compassion  for  the  absurdity. 
"  He's  too  old  for  that  /" 

"I  must!"  the  old  lady  repeated; 
and  she  urged,  as  if  it  were  a  reason  : 
"  I  used  to  know  him  before  he  joined 
the  Shakers.  I  have  got  to  see  him !" 

The  Shaker  Brother  faltered,  with 
his  hand  on  the  door,  which  he  could  not 
close  because  she  gave  no  sign  of  mov 
ing  from  the  doorway  either  for  his 
purpose  or  for  the  impatience  of  the 
young  lady,  who  now  stood  at  the  foot 
of  the  steps  outside,  prodding  the  turf 
with  the  point  of  her  parasol.  He 
looked  out  of  the  doorway,  and,  to  his 
apparent  great  relief,  he  caught  sight 
of  the  elder  who  had  preached  at  the 
meeting*  He  was  going  by  the  church- 
house,  and  he  stopped  a  little  at  sight 
of  the  group  by  the  doorway. 

"Alfred,"  the  Brother  called  to  him, 
"  here  is  a  friend  says  that  she  has  got 
to  see  Father  Burton  !" 


XII 

THE  elder  drew  near  and  looked  first 
at  the  young  lady,  who  rejected  the  in 
quiry  of  his  glance,  and  then  at  the  old 
lady,  who  said,  eagerly:  "I  used  to 
know  him  when  I  was  a  girl,  before 
he  joined  the  Shakers,  and  I  live  a 
great  ways  from  here  now- — I  live  in 
St.  Louis.  I  guess  if  I'm  not  too  old, 
Rosier  isn't ;  and  I  don't  believe  but 

O  7 

what  he'll  know  me."  She  smiled 
brightly,  and  the  elder  may  have  felt 
her  apparition al  charm. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,  exactly. 
It's  not  our  custom  to  refuse  speech 
with  friends  from  the  world  outside. 
But  Father  Burton  is  very  old.  I  ques 
tion  if  he'll  know  you." 


"  I  guess  he'll  know  me,"  said  the  old 
lady. 

"As  long  as  you've  come  such  a 
great  way,  I  don't  see  as  \ve  should  do 
right —  There !  It  won't  do  him  any 
hurt,  I  guess.  You  can  go  into  the  of 
fice,  and  I'll  bring  him  to  you,  if  he 
isn't  too  tired."  He  pointed  towards 
a  building  a  little  way  down  the  street. 
"  That's  the—  " 

"  Oh,  I  guess  I  know  where  the  office 
is  well  enough,"  chirped  the  old  lady, 
and  she  gave  a  little  laugh  of  triumph. 

She  sat  alone  in  the  office  parlor, 
when  the  elder  came  in  with  Father 
Burton ;  her  granddaughter,  as  if  any 
thing  were  better  than  staying  through 
the  reminiscences  of  the  old  people 
when  they  should  come  together,  said 
she  would  go  and  sit  in  the  carriage 

O  C5 

until  her  grandmother  was  ready.     An 

office  Sister,  somewhat  excited  by  the 


prospect  of  Father  Burton's  coming  in 
terview  with  this  old  lady  who  had  in 
sisted  upon  seeing  him,  remained  with 
her. 

"  He  don't  see  very  well,"  said  Elder 
Alfred,  when  he  came  in  with  the  old 
man  ;  "  but  his  hearing  is  about  as  good 
as  ever  it  was,  and  I  don't  believe  you'll 
have  to  talk  any  too  loud  to  him.  His 
mind  comes  and  goes  a  little,  and  you 
have  got  to  look  out  for  that." 

He  advanced  these  cautions,  and  then, 
as  if  he  had  no  further  concern  in  the 
matter,  he  left  his  charge,  in  the  care  of 
the  office  Sister,  to  the  old  lady. 


XIII 

SHE  had  ignored  his  going.  She 
seized  one  of  Father  Burton's  trem 
bling  hands  in  hers  before  he  could 
drop  into  the  easy -chair  the  Sister 
pulled  up  for  him. 

"  Roger  Burton  !"  she  cried  out, 
"don't  you  know  me?" 

"Nay,"  said  the  old  man. 

"Why,  I'm  Chloe  —  Chloe  Mason, 
that  was!" 

"  Yee,"  said  the  old  man,  with  the 
effect  of  yielding  so  much,  at  least,  and 
he  looked  at  the  Sister  for  further  light 
on  the  point.  He  sank  into  the  chair 
behind  him,  and  the  old  lady  drew  hers 
up  beside  him,  still  keeping  his  hand 
and  talking  to  him. 


"I  wanted  to  see  you  again,  Roger, 
before  we  both  passed  away.  I  didn't 
believe  you  were  living  yet;  but  I  hap 
pened  to  get  hold  of  a  paper  that  had  a 
letter  in  it  about  a  visit  to  the  Family 
here,  and  it  spoke  of  you ;  and  nothing 
would  do  but  I  must  start  right  on.  I 
guess  they  thought  I  was  crazy,  but  they 
had  to  let  me  come.  They  were  com 
ing  to  the  sea-side  anyway,  and  I  just 
made  them  stop  off  at  Egerton  over 
Sunday,  and  let  me  come  here  and  see 
you  once  more  before  we  died,  Roger." 
She  gave  a  laugh  and  smoothed  his 
hand  between  hers. 

Father  Burton  had  been  working  his 
toothless  jaws  together  nervously,  as  old 
men  do.  Now  he  leaned  forward,  and, 
with  a  frown  of  his  thick,  senile  brows, 
he  said  :  "Chloe  Mason  that  used  to  live 
at  'Birchh'eld  when  I  taught  the  acad 
emy  there?" 


85 


"Yes!"  crowed  the  old  lady.  "I 
knew  you  would  remember  me  !  I  saw 
it  was  you  the  minute  I  set  eyes  on  you 
in  the  march.  You  a'n't  changed  a  bit, 
hardly;  you've  aged  some  ;  we  all  have  ; 
and  I  can  see  your  teeth  are  gone  a  good 
deal,  they've  got  to  go  ;  but  your  nose 
is  just  the  same,  and  your  eyes,  and 
your  hair;  it's  whiter,  of  course,  but  it 
was  always  so  light-colored.  You've 
got  beautiful  hair,  Roger !" 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  She  was  the  one  that  married  Ira 
Dickerman,  wa'n't  she?"  He  bent  his 
frown  upon  her  again,  and  began  to 
work  his  lips  while  he  waited  her  an 
swer. 

"  I  don't  hardly  believe  he  knows 
what  you  are  talkin'  about,"  said  the 
Sister,  softly. 

"  Yes,  he  does,"  rejoined  the  old  lady, 
with  the  sharpness  of  one  who  will  not 


suffer  a  friend  to  be  criticised.  "  He 
knows  it  as  well  as  I  do.  Don't  you 
know  it's  Cbloe  talking  to  you,  Roger?" 

"  Oh  yee,"  lie  returned  in  a  tone  of 
dry  unconcern. 

"  There,  I  told  you  he  did,"  said  the 
old  lady.  She  turned  again  to  the  old 
man.  "  Yes,  I  married  Ira  about  a 
year  afterwards.  He  made  me  a  good 
husband,  Ira  did ;  I'll  never  say  any 
thing  against  Ira.  lie  was  a  master 
provider,  and  he  looked  out  for  every 
thing.  He  was  pretty  forehanded  be 
fore  we  left  Birchfield  in  '33,  and  out 
west  everything  seemed  to  turn  into 
money.  He  gave  up  the  law,  well,  I 
suppose,  as  much  as  thirty  years  before 
he  died,  and  didn't  do  anything  but 
look  after  his  property ;  he  lent  money 
some.  He  died  in  '56 ;  it's  a  good 
while  ago,  but  he  outlived  all  our  boys ; 
there  was  five  of  them ;  and  the  two 


87 


girls  were  married  and  had  families  of 
their  own  by  that  time.  I've  got  one 
of  my  granddaughters  here  with  me." 
She  looked  round  for  the  girl,  and  then 
went  on  :  "I  guess  she's  gone  out  some 
where  ;  she'll  be  back  again.  I  want 
you  to  see  her.  She's  Ira  all  over ; 
more  than  any  of  his  own  children  were  ; 
they  took  after  me  mostly.  He  always 
said  he  was  glad  of  that.  He  was  very 
good  to  me,  Ira  was;  and  I  didn't  have 
anything  to  complain  of.  None  of  rny 
children  ever  made  me  shed  a  tear  as 
long  as  they  lived.  But,  oh  dear  me ! 
Life  a'n't  what  we  used  to  think  it  was, 
Roger,  when  we  were  young.  It  was  all 
bright  enough  for  me  till  we  came  here 
that  day  together.  But,  there  !  I  haven't 
ever  blamed  you,  and  I  wouldn't  let 
them — no,  not  the  first  syllable  !  Grand 
father  was  pretty  mad  that  afternoon, 
when  I  came  home  alone.  '  Why,  is  the 


fellow  crazy  ?'  said  he.  £  Don't  you  say 
a  word  against  Roger,  grandfather,'  said 
I,  and  then  I  fell  right  out  of  the  chaise. 
"Well,  I  got  over  it — we  get  over  almost 
everything  in  this  world — and  I  went 
back  home  as  soon  as  I  was  able ;  and 
then,  after  awhile,  Ira  began  to  come 
round.  First, it  did  seem  as  if  I  couldn't 
bear  to  look  at  him  ;  and  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  my  pride — 

The  old  man  paused  from  chewing 
upon  nothing,  and  turned  his  dim  eyes 
upon  her  again  :  "  Do  I  understand  that 
you  are  Chloe  Mason  that  was — Squire 
Fallen's  daughter?" 

"  Granddaughter,"  the  old  lady  cor 
rected  him.  "There,"  she  said  to  the 
Sister,  "  I  told  you  !  Yes,  I'm  Chloe, 
Roger;  and  I  haven't  ever  had  one 
hard  feeling  against  you.  You  did  it 
because  you  felt  that  it  was  right,  and 
you  always  were  a  great  hand  to  do 


wheat  you  thought  was  right.  I  tried 
to  express  it  at  the  time,  but  I  don't 
know  as  I  did.  I  presume  you  couldn't 
understand  how  I  felt,  although  I  didn't 

'  O 

pass  any  judgment  on  you.  My!  oh 
my  !  How  it  all  comes  back  to  me  !  I 
was  right  here,  in  this  very  place,  with 
Candace  and  the  other  office  Sisters — I 
guess  they  can't  any  of  them  be  living 
now — and  you  came  in  after  you'd  been 
with  Elder  Lindsley,  and  you  looked  so 
strange  I  wanted  to  laugh ;  I  thought 
you  were  scared  because  you'd  stayed  so 
long.  But  I  guess  I  didn't  want  to 
laugh  after  we  got  started  on  the  way 
home,  and  you  began  to  tell  me  how 
you  felt,  and  asked  me  to  join  the 
Shakers  with  you.  First,  I  thought 
you  must  be  joking,  and  then  I  thought 
you  must  have  taken  leave  of  your 
senses ;  and  when  I  found  out  you 
meant  it,  I  didn't  know  what  to  think. 


90 


It  hurt  me,  Roger,  more  than  a  man 
could  ever  understand.  It  made  me 
feel  as  if  I  was  draggin'  you  down, 
arid  if  I  couldn't  see  it  as  you  did,  I 
was  kind  of  —  well  —  low-minded;  I 
don't  express  it  very  well  now,  and  I 
couldn't  begin  to  express  it  then.  But 
it  made  it  seem  as  if  everything  that 
we  had  thought  so  beautiful  and  lovely 
was  disgraceful,  somehow.  And  all  the 
while  I  knew,  just  as  well  as  I  know 
now,  that  it  wdrtt ;  but  I  didn't  know 
how  to  say  so ;  and  I  felt  as  if  you  were 
putting  the  whole  burden  on  me,  and  I 
couldn't  bear  it.  When  I  saw  that  you 
really  meant  it,  all  I  wanted  was  to  get 
you  out  of  my  sight.  I  didn't  blame  yon, 
and  I  didn't  hate  you  ;  I  don't  know  as 
I  can  explain  it,  but  it  seemed  as  if  I 
should  go  crazy  the  next  minute  if  you 
stayed  with  me  and  tried  to  talk  with 
me,  and  I  couldn't  tell  you  how  I  felt — 


1)1 


and  I  couldn't.  That  was  what  made 
me  make  you  get  out  of  the  chaise  right 
off.  I  used  to  turn  over  what  you  did, 
and  turn  it  over,  and  try  to  think 
whether  I  had  done  right  or  not ;  and 
whether  I  couldn't  have  made  you  see 
it  as  I  did,  if  I'd  tried.  But  you  know 
I  couldn't  try,  don't  you,  Roger?  You 
know  how  it  is  when  we've  lost  friends 
— how  you  go  back  to  this  point  and 
that,  and  try  to  patch  up  some  way 
they  would  have  lived,  if  you  had  done 
so  and  so?  "Well,  it  was  just  like  that! 
But,  afterwards,  I  was  glad  I  hadn't 
tried  to  persuade  you,  or  even  let  you 
go  home  to  grandfather's  and  talk  it  over 
with  him.  It  wouldn't  have  been  any  use, 
and  I  was  spared  that  much,  anyway." 

The  old  man  did  not  answer  anything, 
and  the  Sister  murmured:  "I  guess 
you'll  have  to  speak  a  little  louder  to 
him." 


lie  roused  himself  and  turned  tow 
ards  the  old  lady.  "  Did  you  .come  from 
Squire  Pullen's  now  ?"  he  asked. 

She  laughed.  "Grandfather's?  Why, 
he's  been  dead  fifty  years !  That's  like 
you,  Roger!  Just  so  absent-minded! 
Have  you  kept  on  here  in  the  Family, 
living  in  a  kind  of  waking  dream  as  you 
used  to  1" 

"  I  guess  so,"  said  the  old  man,  with 
an  air  of  fatigue. 

"  I  guess  he's  beginning  to  get  tired," 
the  Sister  hinted. 

Tlie  old  lady  did  not  heed  her.  "  Well, 
life's  a  dream  whether  you  take  it  sleep 
ing  or  waking,  it  don't  matter  much 
which  way  you  take  it ;  and  I  guess 
you  got  as  much  good  out  of  it  your 
way  as  any.  I've  had  dreams  by  night 
that  are  a  good  deal  more  like  real 
things  to  me  than  the  things  that 
really  happened.  Don't  it  seem  like  a 


dream  to  you,  our  ever  coming  here  to 
gether?" 

"Yee,"  said  the  old  man,  indiffer 
ently. 

"But  you  remember  it,  don't  you, 
Roger?"  she  entreated. 

"  Yee.  I  came  here  with  a  young 
woman  I  was  engaged  to  be  married 
to." 

"Well,  I  was  the  one!  Don't  you 
know  me?  I'm  Chloe!" 

"Why,  so  you  are!  Why,  you're 
Chloe!  Yee,  yee,  I  know  you  now. 
But  first  off—" 

"Yes;  I  don't  wonder.  It's  more 
than  sixty  years  ago.  I'll  be  eighty 
next  August,  and  I  was  eighteen  then." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  we  came  here 
for  ?"  He  sank  his  voice  to  a  confiden 
tial  whisper. 

"  Just  to  see  the  place !  And  you  liked 
it  so  much  you  wanted  to  stay,  and  I 


— let  you.  You  remember  about  that  ?" 
The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "Yes, 
you  do !  You  remember  me  ?  Chloe  ?" 
He  shook  his  head  again.  She  gave  a 
little  cry  of  grief  and  reproach.  "  You 
did,  a  minute  ago  !" 

"I  guess  he's  getting  pretty  tired," 
said  the  Sister,  more  boldly. 

"Tired?"  the  word  seemed  to  vex 
him.  "If  you  Sisters  would  leave  my 
bed  the  way  I  fix  it  myself,  and  not  med 
dle  with  it  afterwards,  I  shouldn't  get 
so  tired  fixing  it  over  again,  and  I  should 
be  much  obliged  to  you."  He  turned 
to  Chloe  and  explained,  "  They  know  as 
well  as  anybody  that  I  like  to  have  a 
hollow  down  the  middle,  so  as  to  keep 
me  from  rolling  from  side  to  side ;  but 
they  will  flatten  it  out.  What  did  you 
say  became  of  the  girl  ?" 

"What  girl?" 

"  The  one  he  came  here  with." 


"Why,  I'm  the  one,  and  you're  Roger, 
that  she  came  with." 

"  Yee;  I'm  Roger,"  said  the  old  man, 
after  a  moment's  reflection.  "But  I 
thought  she  was  young— 

The  old  lady  gave  a  gay  laugh :  "  Well, 
/  was  young,  too,  when  I  came  here 
with  you." 

"Ah,  jnst  so !"  said  the  old  man. 

She  waited  for  him  to  speak  further ; 
but  he  did  not,  and  she  said,  compassion 
ately  :  "  We  a'n't  either  of  us  as  young 
as  we  were." 

"  I  was  as  spry  as  anybody  till  I  had 
the  rheumatism,"  he  remarked,  vaguely. 
He  lifted  his  head  and  stopped  working 
his  jaws,  and  looked  at  her  with  eyes 
that  again  had  a  gleam  of  recognition 
in  them.  "  And  you  say  she  made  out 
pretty  well  ?" 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  old  lady,  "  I  don't 
know  as  I  ever  had  a  thing  happen  to 


96 


me  that  he  could  have  helped.  He  was 
always  just  so  to  me.  We  had  a  pretty- 
large  family  of  children,  as  I  was  say 
ing  just  now,  and  we  lost  most  of  them. 
That  was  what  hurt  the  most,  I  guess ; 
it  'most  killed  him  to  have  them  go. 
But  the  two  girls  married  well,  and  their 
husbands  are  hoth  good  men,  and  they've 
got  pretty  children,  and  if  I  was  two 
grandmothers  it  would  be  all  right ;  then 
they  could  both  have  me  with  them." 
She  smiled  fondly,  proudly ;  and  then 
her  face  sobered  again.  "  Yes,  I've  been 
through  it  all,  Roger.  I've  had  the  best 
that  earth  could  give,  and  I've  seen  my 
children  round  me,  and  now  my  grand 
children  ;  and  yet  I  don't  know,  Roger, 
but  what  I'd  have  done  as  well  to  stay 
here  with  you  that  day.  What  do  you 
think  f  She  leaned  forward  and  took 
his  old  hand  again  between  her  aged 
palms,  and  softly  caressed  it.  "You've 


been  here  ever  since,  and  you've  lived 
the  angelic  life,  and  you've  had  peace. 
You've  escaped  all  the  troubles  of  this 
world.  You  haven't  had  a  wife  to  pester 
you;  and  you  haven't  had  to  go  down 
into  the  grave  with  your  children,  and 
want  to  stay  there  with  them,  when 
they  died  before  you.  You  haven't  seen 
your  partner  die  by  inches  before  your 
eyes.  Your  days  have  flowed  right  on 
here,  with  no  sorrow  and  no  trouble ; 
you've  done  what  you  thought  was 
right,  and  you've  had  your  reward.  Do 
you  think  I'd  better  have  stayed  with 
you  that  day  2" 

The  question,  the  caressing  touch,  ap 
parently  brightened  him  into  conscious 
ness  of  her  again.  He  laughed,  as  if  it 
all  affected  him  humorously.  "  Yee,  I've 
lived  the  angelic  life,  as  you  say,  and  it's 
been  all  I  ever  expected.  I've  had  peace, 
I  don't  deny  that,  and  I  haven't  had  any 


sorrow  or  trouble ;  and  still,  I'm  not 
sure  but  I'd  have  done  about  as  well  to 
go  with  you,  Chloe." 

He  lifted  his  countenance  upon  her 
for  a  moment  of  full  recognition.  In 
the  next  he  lost  her.  His  face  darkened, 
and  he  asked :  •  "  Do  you  know  any  of 
the  Sisters  in  the  Family  house  over 
there  «" 

"I  used  to  know  them,"  the  old  lady 
returned,  tremulously,  "when  I  was  a 
little  girl." 

"Well,"  said  the  old  man,  and  he  got 
stiffly  to  his  feet,  "I  want  you  to  tell 
them  that  if  they  smooth  out  that  hol 
low  in  my  bed — " 


XIV 

THE  young  girl  showed  her  impatient 
face  at  the  doorway,  and  asked  :  "  Isn't 
it  almost  time  for  us  to  be  going,  grand 
mother  ?" 

"  Yes,  it's  time,"  said  the  old  lady. 
"  I  guess  Roger  and  I  have  about  got 
through." 


THE    END 


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